Just Muse Me: What comes first?
*with deepest apologies to the old Snake*
"What comes first?"
Those who weren't staring at him were busy making the number one on their notebooks in serious black ink, with serious expressions. Pam, who hadn't thought to bring a notebook, curled her feet up under her as much as possible. Cold toes.
No one answered, either because they weren't sure they should or because they weren't sure what the answer was. The old man made a noisy exhalation of breath and exasperation and put his cigarette out in his mug of almost congealed black coffee. Pam wasn't sure if he had still been drinking it or not but hoped he didn't continue to, or she might be sick.
"These are your first principles," he said, and pointed a tanned and knotted finger at them. "Do..."
"Do what ye will shall be the whole of the law?"
At least one person smacked him upside the head for that with a flimsy notebook. There was a momentary burst of chatter that lapsed into confused silence at the old man's display of eyerolling.
"You quote that sorry sack of pretentious pot-smoking shit at me I'll kick your ass," he muttered, going to take a sip of his coffee. At least two people winced. He put the mug back down again. "That man's ideas were not worth the paper they're printed on."
"If it harm none, do what ye will?" That was more timorous, after the response the last suggestion had garnered, though at least it didn't meet with quite as much scorn and scowling.
"No." Pam thought he sounded quite a bit like Hannibal Lecter with that 'no.' "If it harm none is a conditional. It's an add-on. You know what add-ons are, right? They're upsells. They're those little things they try to sell you, do you wanna make that a combo meal, do you wanna save fifteen percent on your purchase by buying our membership."
"Do what you will." Pam said.
"What? I can't hear you when you're talking to your knees."
"Do what you will."
The would-be Crowleyite blinked. "But I just said..."
"No." Definitely Lecter. "Do what you will is not the whole of the fucking law. That is your first principle. Your only principle. Is what you. Will. What do you will?"
Pam snuck a glance around. One or two people were nodding sagely without having the first fucking clue, she decided, what they were nodding about. Several others looked as though they were thinking about what he said, trying to puzzle out what it meant. A couple just looked clueless; she wondered if they would be praised for their honesty or derided as fools.
"Hey, squirt." A cigarette butt bounced off her forehead. Someone giggled. "Don't you start laughing, next one comes at you." The giggling stopped. "I asked you a question, squirt."
What do you will? Pamela blinked. No one had ever asked that... well, not in that particular way, before. She had to think about it for a second.
"I will my toes to fucking warm up," she muttered. That provoked a second round of giggles.
"Well, put some damn socks on," he told her, one hand gesturing at the door. "Go on, inside. Talk to the princess, she can lend you some of hers. You think that's funny?" Everyone stopped laughing. She didn't hear what happened next.
When she came back out, a second pair of socks stuffed between her socks and her shoes, everyone was quiet. The old man was staring at all of them with that not-quite-glare that suggested he was waiting for an answer. A jerky nod sent her shooting back to her place but, she realized, at least her feet weren't cold anymore. She listened to the silence for a little while before she braved it.
"What are we thinking about?"
Everyone looked at her, and not only looked but made her feel the weight of that gaze. She fought the urge to shrink down in her chair, which would only make her feel it worse and allow their stares to press in on her. Challenge them. Make them answer. She looked to the old man for an answer.
He grunted something that might have been an approval, disdain, or just a cough, tapped another black-wrapped cigarette out onto his hand and lit it. "Where do you go from your first principles?"
"Uh." Pam blinked. First principles. Do what you will. "You... have a will. You... will something. You want something to happen, you take action, you do it. You make it happen."
There was another grunt and then he shifted, uncurling himself from his cross-legged hobo-Yogi position to lean forward and light his cigarette where it was sheltered from the wind by the porch pillar. He took a long drag and made a gesture. "Go on."
Go on? "You... make it happen. You take an action... and that action has consequences." That was it. That was what he was looking for, she knew it. By the little puff of breath and the way he sat back in his chair, she knew it was the answer he'd been looking for, or at least part of it. "So you have to consider the consequences... and accept them. Before you act." Pause. "And accept that there are always going to be consequences you can't anticipate."
"College girl strikes again," he saluted her with his cigarette butt-tainted coffee mug. "There might be some hope for you yet."
Pam beamed. Her enthusiasm was tempered by the fact that he followed up the praise with raising the coffee mug to his lips, the one with the dirty cigarette and ashes floating in it. She could about hear the group take in a collective breath, give a collective wince. At a moment so appropriate it had to be staged, he scowled, pouring the sludgy coffee out over the porch railing. "Who the hell dumped that in there?"
Pam beamed more. She definitely liked this guy.
"What comes first?"
Those who weren't staring at him were busy making the number one on their notebooks in serious black ink, with serious expressions. Pam, who hadn't thought to bring a notebook, curled her feet up under her as much as possible. Cold toes.
No one answered, either because they weren't sure they should or because they weren't sure what the answer was. The old man made a noisy exhalation of breath and exasperation and put his cigarette out in his mug of almost congealed black coffee. Pam wasn't sure if he had still been drinking it or not but hoped he didn't continue to, or she might be sick.
"These are your first principles," he said, and pointed a tanned and knotted finger at them. "Do..."
"Do what ye will shall be the whole of the law?"
At least one person smacked him upside the head for that with a flimsy notebook. There was a momentary burst of chatter that lapsed into confused silence at the old man's display of eyerolling.
"You quote that sorry sack of pretentious pot-smoking shit at me I'll kick your ass," he muttered, going to take a sip of his coffee. At least two people winced. He put the mug back down again. "That man's ideas were not worth the paper they're printed on."
"If it harm none, do what ye will?" That was more timorous, after the response the last suggestion had garnered, though at least it didn't meet with quite as much scorn and scowling.
"No." Pam thought he sounded quite a bit like Hannibal Lecter with that 'no.' "If it harm none is a conditional. It's an add-on. You know what add-ons are, right? They're upsells. They're those little things they try to sell you, do you wanna make that a combo meal, do you wanna save fifteen percent on your purchase by buying our membership."
"Do what you will." Pam said.
"What? I can't hear you when you're talking to your knees."
"Do what you will."
The would-be Crowleyite blinked. "But I just said..."
"No." Definitely Lecter. "Do what you will is not the whole of the fucking law. That is your first principle. Your only principle. Is what you. Will. What do you will?"
Pam snuck a glance around. One or two people were nodding sagely without having the first fucking clue, she decided, what they were nodding about. Several others looked as though they were thinking about what he said, trying to puzzle out what it meant. A couple just looked clueless; she wondered if they would be praised for their honesty or derided as fools.
"Hey, squirt." A cigarette butt bounced off her forehead. Someone giggled. "Don't you start laughing, next one comes at you." The giggling stopped. "I asked you a question, squirt."
What do you will? Pamela blinked. No one had ever asked that... well, not in that particular way, before. She had to think about it for a second.
"I will my toes to fucking warm up," she muttered. That provoked a second round of giggles.
"Well, put some damn socks on," he told her, one hand gesturing at the door. "Go on, inside. Talk to the princess, she can lend you some of hers. You think that's funny?" Everyone stopped laughing. She didn't hear what happened next.
When she came back out, a second pair of socks stuffed between her socks and her shoes, everyone was quiet. The old man was staring at all of them with that not-quite-glare that suggested he was waiting for an answer. A jerky nod sent her shooting back to her place but, she realized, at least her feet weren't cold anymore. She listened to the silence for a little while before she braved it.
"What are we thinking about?"
Everyone looked at her, and not only looked but made her feel the weight of that gaze. She fought the urge to shrink down in her chair, which would only make her feel it worse and allow their stares to press in on her. Challenge them. Make them answer. She looked to the old man for an answer.
He grunted something that might have been an approval, disdain, or just a cough, tapped another black-wrapped cigarette out onto his hand and lit it. "Where do you go from your first principles?"
"Uh." Pam blinked. First principles. Do what you will. "You... have a will. You... will something. You want something to happen, you take action, you do it. You make it happen."
There was another grunt and then he shifted, uncurling himself from his cross-legged hobo-Yogi position to lean forward and light his cigarette where it was sheltered from the wind by the porch pillar. He took a long drag and made a gesture. "Go on."
Go on? "You... make it happen. You take an action... and that action has consequences." That was it. That was what he was looking for, she knew it. By the little puff of breath and the way he sat back in his chair, she knew it was the answer he'd been looking for, or at least part of it. "So you have to consider the consequences... and accept them. Before you act." Pause. "And accept that there are always going to be consequences you can't anticipate."
"College girl strikes again," he saluted her with his cigarette butt-tainted coffee mug. "There might be some hope for you yet."
Pam beamed. Her enthusiasm was tempered by the fact that he followed up the praise with raising the coffee mug to his lips, the one with the dirty cigarette and ashes floating in it. She could about hear the group take in a collective breath, give a collective wince. At a moment so appropriate it had to be staged, he scowled, pouring the sludgy coffee out over the porch railing. "Who the hell dumped that in there?"
Pam beamed more. She definitely liked this guy.